Chapter 95

“You’ll be wanting to wear this,” Damon muttered as he dragged a glossy leather trench coat out of the white Audi that looked out of place beside the freakshow vans in her apartment driveway.

“We can’t go see our lovely neighborhood bullies with you looking like the leftovers at Chucky Cheeze,” Damon said as he looked her over, then slapped the leather to her chest as Lucille examined it greedily.

“And smelling like a witch’s breeches.” Damon jeered as he wrinkled up his nose before shooting a pink, rosemary-scented dust from the tips of his fingers.

“Thanks; I’m glad I can count on you.” Lucille whispered even though she could taste the brine on the roof of her mouth, a residue of demon magic, which ranks two ranks higher than a witch’s spells.

A bolt of trepidation suddenly shot up Lucille as she slid the trench coat around her and hopped into the velvety seat of the passenger side of the demon’s Audi.

“How’ve you been holding up, since The Reckoning?” Lucille asked to break the silence that still stubbornly clung to the low roof of the convertible.

Damon stiffened beside her, hesitating.

“About that, uh, look,” Damon sputtered raggedly, and Lucille’s ears caught fire. She felt herself turn slowly, mechanically, to scrutinize the demon’s side profile.

Why was Damon hesitating? Did he know something? Lucille’s heart knocked against her ribs as she opened and closed her cracked lips without sound.

“The thing is, I might know what happened that night.” Damon said quietly, glancing at her before fixing his red eyes on the road again.

“Oh.” Lucille said strangely, her heart threatening to jump out the open window and be one with the carnage.

“Those creatures, those things?” “I recognized them, Lucille,” Damon said in a quavering voice as Lucille continued to watch him.

“Do you now?” Lucille’s skin felt tight around her face as she gripped the door knob, ready to jump out of the demon’s car. She didn’t recognize the voice she spoke with; it sounded disconnected, even to her ears.

Damon turned again to flash her a questioning look; he couldn’t keep his eyes off the road for too long.

“They’re my father’s puppets, Lucille; those creatures came from Hell.” He whispered, shaking his mass of black hair so as to dislodge the images that seeped under his eyelids.

The night of The Reckoning, Damon had been in his club, The Devil’s Lullaby, which he used to hide his underground lair.

It'd been slow that night, with only a handful of faeries sinning in the backrooms and a few others watching his plump, yellow-skinned succubuses as they hung casually off their dancing poles, the blue and green disco lights making their skin look black as the creepypasta music blasted from the overhead speakers.

Damon had been mixing drinks at the bar when he felt his stomach drop in between his feet; it only happened when someone else used the rift, the one only he had known about until that night, until whoever opened it called it into Armagetton.

It was Immediately followed by screams on the outside street as he shoulder-charged past the fae cowering under the tables into the ruckus.

Damon had been confused at first because there were no cars on the highway, no Circlers lurking, and even the underground tentacle demon had retracted back into its asphalt shell.

It just didn’t make sense! Not in Armageddon!

Until he saw the smoking body of the red-furred Hell Hound crash through the glass doors of the club.

It was the only time he’d shifted form reflexively, dropping his charm the way maidens dropped their underwear in the backrooms of his club.

Damon had roared as tendons in his skin tore and thick strips of muscle stretched over bone, until he towered over the buildings and called forth the hound in a thunderous voice.

It whimpered out of Damon’s lair, its short tail tucked between its massive hind legs, and its two wolf-like heads pointing to the ground. It knew its master, even in exile.

“Tell me, dog, who sent you?” Damon boomed as more creatures flew over his head, their eldritch screeches filling the grey air.

He’d snapped up a large brown Pterosaur that’d flown too close to his head and broken its fleshly reptile body between his teeth, prompting the Hell Hound to scurry off, making loud whimpering noises.

“It just doesn’t make sense!” Damon was shaking his head again; they were almost in the vampire’s territory, and Lucille was still quietly looking out the window, a crack of lightning casting her face in a gloomy shadow.

“For hell raiders to raid Armagetton, someone from here must’ve been controlling them.” Damon said, axing the wheel of his car with his palm, before almost colliding with a beat-up Honda that’d come out of nowhere, flashing them wildly with yellow headlights.

“Christ!” Damon sweated, and Lucille almost burst into giggles at the irony.

“Are you even listening to me?” Damon screamed at the Valkyrie, who was still quiet by his side.

“The only way a faerie could have controlled Hellraisers would be,” Damon hesitated, the idea astounding even him, who was damned through and through.

“…would be through a soul tie with the King of Hades, the Devil himself.” Lucille finished quietly, suddenly turning to face him.

Damon swallowed, feeling unnerved as he nodded slowly.

The porcelain white of the girl’s high cheekbones was unmarked, and her full lips stretched into a flat line. Damon couldn’t tell what was going through her head.

“They were looking for your sister Lucille, to drag her down to Hades.” He breathed quietly, sighing when Lucille remained stoic.

“Gingerbread.” He called, in a rare moment of something close to fondness, and Lucille turned to look at him, mist swimming in her eyes.

“I’m in way over my head, Damon; what if… what if she didn’t make it?” “What if my sister’s dead, and here I am making enemies of Armagetton Faes just to hit more dead ends?” Lucille choked out, pausing to swallow past the lump in her throat.

“Hush, Gingerbread, don’t embarrass me in front of these bloodsuckers.” Damon chided Lucille playfully, and Lucille barked out a harsh laugh, snorting back the phlegm.

“No fae in all of Armagetton or in the pits of the Seven Hells will dare to harm you; they’d have to go through me first.” Damon growled, tugging a red lock of hair, as Lucille sucked in her breath, nodding.